November is Affirmation Month by my calendar.



There are a million reasons to smile. Happiness exists.



Ito ang kamalayan ni lavender-wilwarin.

♥ the extroverted introvert
♥ the calm panicker
♥ the silent amplifier
♥ the messy OC
♥ the tough softie
♥ the honest denial queen
♥ the creative traditionalist
♥ the friendly loner
♥ the strict laugher
♥ indifferently mushy
♥ logically irrational
♥ seriously silly
♥ impatiently patient
♥ femininely maton
♥ glamorously simple

and yes, i am hearts and sunshine in the autumn.


i try to understand myself as well.=P

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My thoughts go out to you constantly; in every fraction of a nanosecond, my thoughts go out to you. I am acutely aware of the time and I find myself wishing to have the power to speed it up so I could be with you or slow it down when we are together. I am incapable of looking at you when we have to part and I immediately turn my back after the "see you soon" because I fear I won't be able to walk away from you. Every breath I take smells of your perfume.

When we are not together, I think of you. I think of what makes you smile. I wonder how one can be so calm and enigmatic, I wonder if I bore or annoy you with all my talk. I think of how you holding my hand gives me a feeling of security and at the same time allows me admission of vulnerability, that I need people. That I need you.

And so here I am, babbling my way in an effort to make it very clear, as transparent and fragile as crystal can get, to make it known that I miss you.

I miss you.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
11/13/2009
02:02am

For the longest time, I seem to be writing with a dark cloud above my head. I only remember to write about the stuff that elicit negative emotions, and while I never forget to inject my brand of hope and positivism, people might begin to wonder if my life really has a constant climate of dreariness.

Well, it does not.

I have a lot of words to describe frustrating and depressing conditions, maybe to make sure that whoever gets to read it would somehow feel what I felt, even to the smallest extent; but right now, where I am, it's quite simple to convey my state. I wouldn't employ witty wordplay, amazing alliteration (but then again, that's just what I did =P), numerous figures of speech or flowery descriptives to share how I am, just that:

I am happy.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
11/03/2009
03:49am


...and it feels really great to be.=D

It happens to everyone once in a while: one drowns in stress but is still unable to stop, not unlike working in an assembly line (ayun, nag-tunog Marxist =P), until sometimes one squeezes out musings of whether one would still be able to recognize oneself in the mirror.

There really are more famous international languages. In college, there were certain foreign language classes that quickly run out of slots during the first few hours of enlistment; there were lines upon lines of students petitioning for new classes to be opened. One of my previous professors, upon asking some students what foreign language electives they were taking, commented vehemently: “RUSSIAN?! Portuguese? Why are you taking these classes? Those languages won’t help you! Ilang tao ba sa mundo ang nagsasalita ng Russian [I wanted to tell him ‘a lot’, since Russia is a big country with a big population, but didn’t want to be a smart-aleck]?”

Spanish, French and Italian: these were the high-demand European language classes in college. I’d confess that I had wanted to speak French and Spanish for the longest time. To my ears, French is just so romantic and elegant; Spanish is so passionate and rhythmic. I fought tooth and nail to get the classes (well, not really, mostly I waited patiently, fell in line for hours, kept my fingers crossed, and prerog-ed to death) until I did get them.

My work entailing being at events to feature in our magazine show, I went with my crew to the opening of Pelicula, the Spanish Film Festival by Instituto Cervantes. It was a delight to hear the language being spoken, and as the Institute’s director delivered his opening remarks, I found myself out of breath at the English speech being delivered but still sounding very Spanish.

It was beautiful.

Then I realized, how come we Filipinos don’t speak like that when using our native tongue? Is it because our languages are inferior to them? Is it because we have poor capacities at enunciation? Certainly not.

All languages are equally beautiful. But while I was sitting there, I suddenly noticed what differentiated those languages which were internationally-recognized as beautiful from the native languages that we speak.

The Spanish and the French, these people, they truly love their language. They speak it with a passion, they savor it in their mouths like a multi-flavored taste, they recognize its power; they deliver it with respect. Each word that they release is at once firm and lyrical. They promote it to the world with full conviction that their language is beautiful.

How I would love the Filipino language to be spoken that way. We study it formally for at least 15 years but in the end we still know little about it and have even less appreciation for it (and less, it seems, for our regional tongues, as some are on the verge of being declared dead languages). Filipino for one is a beautiful language, highly evocative and poetic, and it comes with specific structures and rules.

I admit, even I, who am writing about this right now, am also one of the majority who do not have a comprehensive knowledge of the language. I do not write as effectively in Filipino. I will not, if randomly asked, be able to discuss the difference in delivery of words which are maragsa, malumi, malumay. We as a people do not devote much time mastering something that we use extensively every single day of our lives.

If only we treat our languages with the same love and respect other nations treat theirs, it just might contribute, even if for a small measure, to having more responsibility towards building our identity as a nation.

One time my mother told me, “Anak, kapag nag-e-English ka hindi perfect ang diction, ano? Hindi kagaya no’ng nag-aaral ka sa ----------.”

I said, “Oo nga po. Walang twang, diretso lang.”

“Bakit ayaw mong magsalita ng ganun?”

“Hindi naman ako tumira sa ibang bansa e. Saka American English ‘yun. Filipino English ang gamit ko.”


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
10/07/2009
02:35am

I had a persistent headache. I couldn't breathe properly. The opening of my eyes were one millimeter wide and my eyebags were five inches thick. My entire face was red the whole day. I had rashes up to my shoulders from hyperventilating and crying.

It was my birthday, alright. In keeping with tradition, it's the 10th I spent crying (my 19th birthday being a special case as it issued forth tears of joy thanks to my blockmates' overwhelming surprise). I have kept on asking, why always on this day?

I am a relatively cheerful person. I punctuate most sentences with a tiny laugh. I could say I am a generally content person with a positive outlook and with little complaints. Remember that I have the naive perspective and am very easy to please.=P But when August comes around, the floodgates of my lacrimal glands loosen slowly until they open all out on the 28th for a flashflood. And I ask, why on this day? Why should a heaviness shroud me on the day that is supposed to be mine?

This year, I am reminded of some answers.


I should be thankful for everything. Should I accept only the good and not face the bad?

Turn the other cheek.

The meek shall inherit the earth.

Those who exalt themselves shall be humbled, and those who are humble shall be exalted.


In the middle of the very busy work night, I arrived at my second location where I left my cameraman and was saddened that I did not get to hear even one song from this concert of one of the bands I like with the Manila Symphony Orchestra.

Then they announce that they would be playing the last song of the night.

It's 'Wag Ka Nang Umiyak.

Guess what I did [hahahaha].

I say, it's easy to be given fleeting spurts of happiness on birthdays, but to be given maturity, learning, and the opportunity to rise is a special gift indeed.

I may cry until my eyeballs get so swollen they invade my entire face, but I have joy in my heart, and that is a constant.

Thank God for tears.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
09/02/2009
05:21pm

Kailangan ilabas sa sistema ang lason.

Hindi ako nagbubuhat ng sariling bangko.

Pero ang tantsa ko naman sa sarili ko, somewhat madaling kausap. I don't complain much. I'm content with working in the sidelines and laboring backstage. I will do almost everything to make sure the job is done well. Umaattitude din ako pero ginagawa ko pa rin ang trabaho ko. I'm a peace-loving person who keeps to herself. Hindi ako nanunumbat. Hindi ako nakikipagtalo. Tahimik lang akong nagtatrabaho. I also don't stay around waiting to be given credit. Okay lang sa aking sumalo ng sumalo ng sumalo ng sumalo kahit masakit na ang tuhod ko; minsan nga lang nadadapa.

Mapagtimpi at mapagtiis ako, hanggang umabot sa puntong hindi na ako makahinga.

HUWAG NAMAN KAYONG UMABUSO.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
08/22/2009
03:26am

Thoughts for the season:

Recession ngayon, 'wag magpaka-choosy.

Habang bata pa at kaya pa, 'wag masyadong mag-overthink. Gawin lahat ng puwedeng gawin.

Being bunso is not a license.

bow.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
07/02/2009
02:29am

A lot of differences can be noticed when I got sick around last week. I thought I can still be the indomitable tough girl in the face of physical pain. Apparently, I can’t.

And to think it was only supposed to be the flu.

I remember the time when I had this really nasty flu, the kind when people are afraid I’d cough out my lungs any moment or spontaneously combust in front of them. I didn’t even absent myself from classes (to the dismay of everyone in school, I’m sure, for fear of me spreading around my killer flu virus). It just so happened that I had this nasty virus during intramurals, when everyone is obsessed with winning the cheerdance competition. Yes, it doesn’t look believable at all, but there was a time in my not-so-distant past when I was a cheerdancer (LOL).

So what did I do during that time of sickness? Being the level-headed reasonable person that I am, I continued to attend the rehearsals, of course. I would be delirious with my skyrocketing temperature and super-dizzy-out-of-focus nauseous mind, struggling to breathe in my endless coughing fits, but I’d be pumping my fists in the air, kneeling down in the concrete, and doing all the steps just like everyone else in the team. Not even my mom could make me stop, until the teacher assigned to the group ordered me to go home and hide under the blankets, surfacing only to drink 100% pure pineapple juice.

So what on earth happened during the years between that instance and my case of flu last week? Because last week, I was completely different. I would just spontaneously cry from the pain.

You want graphic details? Of course you don’t, but I’d give them anyway, hahaha. Everyone in the house was in front of the electric fans and still perspiring, but I was wearing socks, pajamas, a jacket, under two blankets and still having the chills. Every muscle ached; I could literally perceive sharp pain as I felt my blood circulate my veins. My brain was mush. My eyeballs were being torched out of their sockets by the warm vapors emanating from me. I couldn’t eat anything, and since my digestive system was practically empty, during my vomiting fits I couldn’t bring out anything, but peristaltic motion continued to push up anyway, until I would regurgitate pink fluid – whoa, whoa, back-up, that was not supposed to come out, pasintabi sa mga kumakain.

It was as terrible as terrible can be. It was so bad I couldn’t speak, and aside from crying, all I can do was look at the time and pray that it would be 12:30am/pm or 6:30am/pm so I could drink my medicine.

The doctor who examined me wore a mask while listening to my chest. My sisters looked at me with concern, and while nobody was saying it, I knew everyone was screaming “Huy! A(H1N1) na ba ‘yan?!” in their heads.

I was really wondering how I managed to transform from the obstinate undefeatable teenager to the crying helpless bedridden person in a matter of some years. Can it be:

1. Mabilis akong tumanda at hindi ko napansin na may pagtanda nang naganap sa aking lupang katawan,
2. Ako nga talaga ang babaeng Benjamin Button at nagre-regress na ako,
3. Bigla na lang bumaba ang aking threshold of pain,
4. Nakakahawa ang ginagawa ng nanay ko na natatakot sa doktor at nasasaktan kahit sa pitik.

A week later, tiny red spots splattered my legs.

Pare, dengue na pala ang sakit ko, hindi flu.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
06/29/2009
02:35am

I know that story.

It’s all too familiar as too often have I seen it unfold right before me, revealing my inevitable entanglement in the story.

That story starts with skepticism, having known all the other stories that are just like it, and then metamorphoses into something promising. You don’t want to, but you take a chance, because it might be right this time, and you’ve already developed this hopeful stance in the matter. You then wait it out, observing, thinking; feeling.

Sometimes it’s perceptible, sometimes you’re not even aware for the longest time, but you begin to fall into the situation. You believe in the person, in the situation, in the future.

You become so involved in the story, and you hope with all your might that the ending will turn out right this time. You take note of every day, every hour, every second; the slightest twitch speaks volumes for you. You build a vast archive of memories, remembering everything from the most mundane laugh to the most notable occurrence. You listen to all those beautiful lines. You keep all the words and believe with all your heart in their power.

You believe some more until you realize you’re not thinking anymore, you have given your feelings full reign.

You end up in free-fall.

And it really feels good soaring through the air like that, feeling the acceleration, no other force governing you but gravity.

Until you realize no one is there to catch you.

You realize you know nothing. There are no facts, no plans; just vagueness, obscurity, and disappearances.

You realize you haven’t really even been told anything. You take notice that everyone knows: the real friends, the real permanent people in his life, knows what happens in his life now, what he plans to do. None of it you have ever heard of, of course, and none of it involving you.

He knows the real deal. You know only what you chose to believe.

And you get all puzzled at why they all waste time trying to make you believe in the possibilities when they all plan on leaving you in the end anyway.

Because that’s how the end looks like all the time in all these stories you have ever told: they leave. Sometimes without even telling you.

Why does the ending of that story never change?

Abandonment issues. I had them for the longest time. Don’t tell me you love me if you’ll leave me just like all the others.

Do you know that story?


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
06/29/2009
03:08am

I can have that look sometimes. Okay, maybe a lot more times than I am aware of. I call it my wide-eyed-vulnerable-oooh-I'm-so-helpless-I'm-about-to-cry look. My friends actually think I can use it to my advantage. And maybe I could.

A few days ago, I went to a government office to get a certain form. I went inside the office and saw this seemingly PMS-ing barking woman standing at the other side of the desk labeled FORMS. I stood about three feet away from her, afraid to approach, merely looking as she snapped at everyone around her desk. In the middle of her vehement speech, she happened to glance at me, and decided to stop. After which she said "Yes?" ever so softly to me.

"Puwede pong humingi ng form?" I asked, smiling slightly (I didn't want to push it, she might holler at me suddenly). Upon which she reached under her desk, and handed me about a ream of the form I was asking for. I was out of the office in two minutes.

That same day I was walking around a certain area looking for a photocopy station and decided to approach someone tending a small stall to ask for directions. I almost turned around the moment I called her attention, because she was obviously irritable and wasn't in the mood to give someone like me directions. But since I was already standing in front of her, I had no choice but to ask. Surprisingly, she did give me directions, not just to one but two photocopy stations. And I think she smiled back a teensy bit when I smiled at her berfore I left.

I have been called naïve thrice in a single day in different occasions, by different people who didn't know each other, in the very recent past. That began my acquired resentment at being perceived as naïve. Forget about the perks, I am not clueless and helpless.

I have seen bad things. I have experienced bad things happen to me and to people close to my heart. I know life is not all sunshine and flowers, even though I may sometimes look like I think life is as simple as that. I know I don't know much, but I do maintain critical-mindedness in all my thought processes. And believe me when I say that I don't falter. I may cry a lot, stare with deer-caught-on-headlights eyes, or stutter, but I don't falter.

It's funny knowing the stereotype the industry I'm in is tagged with. I remember pulling out my notebook during a meeting and momentarily resting my arms over it when I saw my colleagues' choice in paper products: nothing conspicuous, ordinary-looking bound pages in black, brown or navy blue. Mine was rainbow-colored and butterfly-shaped, scribbled on with a slim purple pen.

And then I began to laugh (only in my mind, of course, lest people think I've gone crazy). Why would I hesitate about showing people who I am? Yes, I'm the one who loves Disney movies and happy endings, the one who listens to Yolanda Adams's I Believe to motivate me while doing crunches, the one who can be cheered up by a scoop of ice cream, piece of cake or even Chocnut, the one who wouldn't watch horror even if you paid her, the one who makes up names for her mom and sisters, the one who wears orange with purple, the one who wouldn't say bad words or lie because, well, it's bad.

So I remove my arms over my notebook and let everyone see how different it is.

There is too much hurt, and sadness, and disappointment, and anger in this world to dwell on them. I choose to find and preserve all the good that I still can. I choose to be colorful rather than to be drab and dreary. I choose to silently look for solutions rather than to grumble. I choose to sing while walking. I choose to feel rather than to ignore.

I will not apologize for who I am.

So I guess having that look does have certain perks. And I will hold on to that innocence, that positivity, that idealism, for as long as I can.

Oh yes, call me naïve. I know better.

After all, I also have the piercing-dagger-stare-be-very-afraid-you'll-turn-into-a-pillar-of-salt-if you-mess-with-me
look. But that's another story.


lavender-wilwarin
coreenangelicafernandezchan
06/07/2009
05:27am

So I guess writing this post proves that I am naïve. LOL.=P